


Haunted London

by libraryv



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Ghost Tours, Halloween, basically a fluffy set up for Corm and Robin to hook up, fictober19
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-11-08 14:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20837168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libraryv/pseuds/libraryv
Summary: Ilsa has an idea for a night out: Cormoran and Robin will join her and Nick on a Haunted London Ghost tour. Strike is hesitant (of course) Robin is adorable (of course), Ilsa and Nick are all of us, and nothing goes according to plan. Which is maybe not a bad thing. ;) You know where this is going - but I hope you enjoy the ride!For Fictober19. Each day will be a (short) chapter based on the prompt.





	1. "It will be fun, trust me."

**Author's Note:**

> I will endeavour to finish! I know how I want it to go, and I don't usually write unless I know the ending. So as long as I keep the chapters short, I'll cross my fingers to keep up one per day. :D

“A Haunted London tour? Oh yes, let’s! What a great idea!”

It wasn’t a great idea. It was a stupid one, and his leg would kill him. Strike would never have normally gone along with it.

Except.

Robin’s cheeks, flushed from the half-downed pint in front of her, her squeal of delight, and the way she clapped her hands together; magical ingredients, combining to cast their usual spell. 

She placed a hand laughingly on his upper arm, and her gentle touch burned right through the sleeve of his coat. He felt internal wings fluttering somewhere near his stomach. He was angry at himself for such a visceral reaction to her innocent brush of fingers. 

He covered his own emotions by throwing out a gruff comment.

“It’s a racket for gullible tourists.”

Nick winked at him, raising his own glass to his mouth. Ilsa looked between the two men, then scoffed. 

“Excuse me, but it’s the perfect thing to do this time of year. I can make the reservations for a short one. Next Saturday?”

“I’m a gullible tourist,” said Robin, and grinned charmingly at Strike, whose treacherous stomach gave another pleasurable swoop. 

_Christ, what was wrong with him this evening?_

He cleared his throat manfully, which Nick misinterpreted as resistance. He shrugged at Strike playfully.

“If I’m being honest, it does sound fun. Come on Oggy, you can grump your way through it and then we’ll have a pint afterwards.”

Robin turned to Strike, her eyes sparkling, and he heaved a defeated sigh. 

Ilsa grinned in triumph. 

“It will be fun, trust me!”


	2. "Just follow me, I know the area."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of the tour arrives, and Strike's outlook on the evening grows a bit more positive.

The October night was clear and crisp; Strike was grateful for that, at least. 

He spotted Nick and Ilsa and walked carefully towards them, making out Robin’s hair glowing beside them in the dark. His leg felt like it could manage a 45-minute tour, and he felt strangely buoyant.

Strike let himself imagine a moment during the tour where Robin, scared, clutched at him. He added the pleasing detail of himself putting a comforting arm around her, hugging her warmth to his chest.

For _fuck’s_ sake. He had to get a grip.

Ilsa waved at him, beaming. 

“Are we ready to go meet the group? I can’t remember exactly where-” 

She pulled out her mobile to check the tour details, but Nick shook his head. 

“I know where to go. Just follow me, I know the area.”

They trundled off into the evening, their breath clouding in the frosty air. Nick was wrapped around Ilsa, and Robin looped her arm naturally and easily through Strike’s.

“I’m excited! Only, I hope they don’t have people jumping out at you, I’ll scream my bloody head off.”

Her body was snug against his, and the sheer _nearness_ of it had him grin down at her, saying,

“Just hold onto me.”

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth; it sounded far too flirtatious, but Robin’s eyes widened in surprised delight. 

He was sure he didn’t imagine that she snuggled in closer to his side.

As they approached the group huddled around exit 3 of Bank Station, this ridiculous ghost tour suddenly seemed like the smartest idea Ilsa had ever had.


	3. "Now? Now you listen to me?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tour begins.

The tour group wasn’t too large; Strike mentally counted twenty. The tour guide checked their names off his clipboard, then glanced at his watch, nodding. He gestured the group closer with his torch, and began to speak, raising his voice to a sombre, clear pitch. 

“Good evening folks. My name is Richard, and I will be guiding you back in time, through ghastly history and folktale, as we experience...Haunted London.”

He switched off his torch dramatically, and a ripple of uneasy laughter spread through the group. A few moments of nervous silence, then Richard held aloft an electric lantern, throwing the assembled faces into alternating relief and shadow. As the light passed over them, Strike looked down at Robin, raising his eyebrows, and she grinned back. The only betrayal of her nerves was the iron clutch of her arm through his.

Richard went through preliminaries and safety rules, and the group began to walk.

Ilsa and Nick were just in front of them, and Ilsa turned half-around, saying, 

“This is fun, isn’t it? Shall we go for a nice dinner afterwards?”

Strike, still riding high from the feel of Robin against him, would have readily agreed to far more than dinner, if it meant the evening continued. 

“Sounds good to me.”

Ilsa took in the sight of Robin glued tight against Cormoran’s side and gave him a knowing and amused look that said, 

“Now? Now you listen to me?”

They walked down an alley, then down a long dirt ramp, sloping into an underground room. The close air smelled rotten, and the group’s chatter fell quiet as darkness surrounded them. The only light came from Richard’s lantern; the eerie light casting a meagre green glow in one corner. 

Robin unlinked her arm from his, and abandoning brave pretence, slipped an arm around his waist, giving him a silent but potent thrill.   
It was the easiest thing in the world to wrap one arm around her shoulders and pull her in closer. He felt her curl into him, and suddenly, the dark was full of possibility.


	4. "I know you didn't ask for this."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thrills and chills of the tour begin; a moment between Strike and Robin occurs...

The guide began to speak in his graveyard voice.

“In the 1880s, this series of underground rooms…”

Strike was listening vaguely, but his senses were currently being overwhelmed by Robin. 

The dark was sharpening every sensation: he was aware of how blissfully comfortable it was to have her curved into his side. He caught the clean, bright scent her hair, of sugar and apples. She rubbed her cheek gently, almost mindlessly, against his sweater where his coat was open, right above his heart. 

A shot of desire traveled straight to his groin, and he cast his mind desperately about for distraction.

It arrived in the form of Richard dousing his lantern, flooding the cavern in complete darkness. A shrill, unearthly cry pierced the air. A few people screamed in a domino effect. Robin flinched and turned into Strike, completely burying her face into his chest. His arms came around her.

Richard turned the lantern back on, and a woman dressed in 19th century period costume was beside him; they were both wearing cheeky smiles. 

“Sorry to scare you, ladies and gentlemen! I know you didn’t ask for this...but tonight we have been joined by a spirit from the past!”

The lady curtsied, and there were groans and relieved giggles from the group. Strike looked over beside him, and even in the shadows, he could see that Ilsa was being squeezed very hard by Nick, who had both arms around her and his eyes screwed tightly shut. Ilsa rolled her eyes good-naturedly and reached up, patting Nick’s hat.

Robin still had her face buried in Strike’s sweater. 

“Dirty trick,” came her muffled voice, although her tone was light.

“Yeah,” Strike said gruffly, leaning down and speaking fondly into the hair at the crown of her head. “Bastards.”

She giggled and lifted her face from the heavy wool, smiling up at him.


	5. "I might just kiss you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Near miss. :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have a (tiny) bit of plot planned, in case you're worried that it's going to be 26 chapters of the same thing. :D

He was looking down at her lifted face, her eyes glittering in the darkness. He was already bent down, had already ducked his head. They were inches apart. The darkness had rendered any and all lines they had drawn between them, invisible.

Richard was saying something about his new co-host, and the woman dressed in costume cracked a joke that made the group laugh.

Robin hadn’t moved, and neither had Strike, his arms still circled around her, keeping her close against him. Robin unclenched one hand from where it was fisted in his sweater and let it travel down to his belt, which she tugged, gently. He let out a huff of air, halfway between a breath and a grunt of desire, and her lips were almost to his.

They were illuminated by a sudden flash of light, and Robin pulled back and away immediately. Strike squinted in the sudden glare. The tour group was shuffling, moving along. The light was coming from a man’s mobile phone; he had turned on the torch mode, and was now sweeping it along the ground at their feet.

“Oh, that’s it, that’s it!” A woman squealed in delight, and the man holding the phone bent down to pick up a ring off the packed dirt floor.

The woman looked at Strike and Robin, her face lit up with happiness as she took the ring. 

“I was twisting it on my finger and I dropped it; I thought it was gone forever!” 

Strike snuck a look at Robin, who was studiously avoiding his gaze, smiling at the woman. 

“I’m glad you found it.”

“Oh, it’s all this gentleman here!" The woman turned to him, thrilled. "Lucky you had your mobile with that light! I might just kiss you!”

Strike could have cheerfully decked him.

The small crowd was almost out of the room; the woman chattering eagerly away to the man with the mobile going ahead. Ilsa threw Strike a look before catching up to Robin, their heads together, and Nick came up beside Strike, grinning and clapping a hand to his shoulder. 

“Whew! Don’t know if I can survive a whole night of this, mate!”

Strike knew exactly how he felt.


	6. "Yes, I'm aware. Your point?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike regroups after his near-miss kiss with Robin.

Strike and Nick followed the rest of the group as their guides led them back up the ramp and out of the underground room, into the October night air once again.

Strike’s mood, which had been carefree and daring moments ago, plummeted back to safe ground: resistant grumpiness.

Whatever that moment between him and Robin was in the dark cocoon of the cavern, she had clearly pulled away when that bloody idiot had caught them in his mobile’s light. 

Strike watched Robin giggle at something Ilsa said, and felt Nick’s eyes assessing him. He scowled. 

Nick laughed. 

“You’ve got an awfully unpleasant look on your face.”

Strike gave a grunting, one-note laugh. 

“Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

He rummaged around in his pocket for cigarettes, and Nick said, in a carefully cheerful tone.

“I can hardly blame you, after that close call with Robin back there.”

Strike held the lit match to the cigarette, then inhaled; the process buying him time as he covered his surprise. 

“You saw that, did you? Thought you were making sure that you didn’t see anything at all.”

He gave his friend a grin of exhaled smoke; he was teasing.

Nick returned it, unbothered. 

“This is a forty-five minute tour, Oggy. My point is, anything can happen.”


	7. "No, and that's final."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike comes to a decision, and recruits Nick. But before anything can happen...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cheated a tiny bit with this one and added two words in order to make it fit. Am I disqualified? *grins*

_Anything can happen._

Strike ruminated on Nick’s optimistic prediction as they ambled along at the back of the group. Fog had descended, and the guide’s lantern was floating aloft at the front like a disembodied spirit.

There had been a moment back there, where Nick's sentiment had almost proven true, and Strike was sure that Robin had wanted…

He remembered Robin’s gentle tug at his belt, and any hesitancy evaporated.

_Right._

Strike was a decisive man, and his mind sharpened into clarified surety: he was making his move with Robin, and he was doing it tonight. 

He exhaled smoke into the air, watched it blend into the fog, and said, in Nick’s direction,

“Feel like playing wing-man this evening?”

Nick’s grin was all barely-contained glee. 

“Finally decided to go for it, have you?” 

Strike felt a smile threatening, felt his friend’s infectious excitement, and squashed it: no need to get ahead of himself. 

“I’ve got an idea, but - just you for now.”

Nick’s eyebrows raised in questioning amusement.

“No Ilsa? I’m sure she’d love to help.”

Strike thought about Ilsa and the likelihood of excited squealing, then shook his head with a faint grin. 

“No, just you, and that’s final.”

That was when a very human scream came from the front of the group.


	8. "Can you stay?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night threatens to unravel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sliding in with this a day late - but I'll post both chapters to catch up. Yesterday was crazier than anticipated. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is reading along and commenting! I'm enjoying taking our four friends on their double date. :)

The scream halted the tour’s progress through the foggy street.

“Stay calm, give her room,” Richard was saying loudly from the front, at the same time that his female co-host was asking, 

“Is there a doctor or nurse here tonight?”

Strike put his height and heft to good use and pushed his way through the group, towing Nick along with a firm grip on his friend’s elbow.

They reached the front, where the woman who had lost her ring was sprawled awkwardly on the street, her face pale and tears shimmering in her eyes. She was gasping for breath and holding her ankle as a few people helped her sit up. 

Nick came forward, raising his palm. 

“I’m a doctor, what’s happened?”

He crouched beside her, smiling and talking to her while gently examining her ankle, and Ilsa and Robin made their way to Strike. 

Richard had his head bent to Nick's as they talked, then he stood up and addressed the group. 

“I’m so sorry, folks, but there’ll be a bit of a delay while we wait for an ambulance.”

There were groans and murmurs as Richard held up his hand. 

“Expect full compensation, no matter what, but if you’re interested in continuing, my co-host will continue as planned. Or, if you prefer, you can opt out of tonight’s tour and reschedule for another night. Please let Rachel know.”

People began shifting and talking to each other as they decided whether to continue or not. 

The lady on the ground clutched at Nick’s coat. 

“Can you stay? Until they get here?”

Nick reassured her with a smile, then stood up and joined Strike, Ilsa, and Robin, raising his eyebrows.

“She'll be fine; it's a bad sprain. I’ll stay with her until the ambulance arrives. You keep going and I'll catch up with you later?”


	9. "There is a certain taste to it."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike share a toffee-inspired moment.

Ilsa looked unsure.

“I guess we could keep going, but I don’t want to leave you…”

She looked at Strike and Robin.

“Let’s wait with you, Nick, and then take the tour another night.”

Strike bit down his frustration; he didn’t want to do this another night. At this point, he wanted a pint and his bed. 

Nick waved them off.

“It’s fine! You go, and I’ll keep texting you and catch up. This won’t take long.”

He brought a hesitant Ilsa in for a quick embrace, and Strike and Robin meandered away a few steps to join the people staying on for the rest of the tour. 

Robin grinned, rearranging the scarf around her neck. 

“I’m getting hungry,” she said, rubbing her upper arms against the cold. “I can’t wait for dinner afterwards.”

Strike dug into his pocket and drew out a toffee.

“To tide you over? Or maybe it’s too sweet; dessert before dinner.”

They both looked at the proffered toffee, and Strike was transported to another caramel-coloured moment, years ago, in Robin’s Land Rover; the barest brush of her soft lips against his fingers, the brief sensation of warm breath on his hand.

He wondered if she remembered that charged moment.

“Well,” Robin came closer, a mischievous look playing across her face.

“I do like dessert before dinner.”

She let her fingers deliberately stroke against his as she took the toffee from his hand, smiling.

“There _is_ a certain taste to it. Eating something you really want, when you want it.” 

Strike met her dancing eyes. She remembered, all right.


	10. "That's what I'm talking about!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tour moves to a haunted pub, and the scene is set for Strike to make another move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, real life got a bit nuts and I lost the thread for five days, but I told myself all along I wouldn't stress if I couldn't keep up. So I'm moving along as planned and cut out the prompts I missed. :)
> 
> For those who are still following, Thanks for sticking with me, and here were go again!

Ilsa came up to them, and Robin’s hand left Strike’s as they turned and followed the now-reduced group as they gathered around Rachel in her eighteenth century dress. 

“Our next destination is The George and Vulture Pub, the site of a grisly murder that took place exactly a hundred years ago...on this very night. Legend has it that the ghost of the victim still haunts the premises.”

There were excited murmurs, and they set off walking. Nick gave them a wave as they passed.  
Now that things were back underway, the tour was in high spirits, but Strike didn’t share the general mood. 

He was tired, and his leg was beginning to ache in its tell tale, ominous way. His determination to make a move with Robin had been undermined by the temporary loss of Nick. The few moments he’d had with her kept getting interrupted; maybe this ghost tour wasn’t an ideal way to try something after all. 

They had reached the pub; an unremarkable stone building, but as they filed in after Rachel, the empty interior was appropriately spooky. The old walls seemed to close in on the small space, and the dark corners were velvety black. The shutters were over the windows, and the street outside seemed much farther away. 

Rachel closed the door after the last person, and as they bunched together in the middle of the floor, a long, thin, wail sounded. 

There was an uncomfortable, scared silence, then a teenager at the front joked,

“That’s what I’m talking about!”

There was an outbreak of giggling, and the group looked to Rachel, who merely smiled and gestured to the gleaming bar behind her.

“Legend has it that the wailing we just heard is the spirit of Mr. David Wolfe, who was stabbed to death on the evening of his wedding night, right in this very place. He is said to cry out for his bride...and also as a warning to his murderer.”

Strike refrained from rolling his eyes. He looked down and saw Robin, her focus fixed entirely on the guide. She had inched closer to him, and suddenly he was sure: he didn’t need a plan, and definitely didn’t need more time. 

Gently, he brushed his knuckles across the back of her hand. He heard her soft intake of breath, then her fingers twined with his.


	11. "Listen. No, really listen."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Robin find a moment.

There was nothing but Robin’s hand in his own. He didn’t look over at Robin’s profile, and the heat that was burning through him made him glad that it was so dark; he had felt the rush of blood to his cheeks.

Rachel was floating her hand in the air in front of the group.

“Can you hear it? The lonely voice of Mr. Wolfe, calling to us from beyond the grave?”

The group fell silent, holding its collective breath. 

The same teenager who had joked before, muttered loudly, 

“I can’t hear anything.”

Rachel shook her head indulgently.

“Listen. No, really listen.”

Strike wasn’t listening to anything but the beating of his own heart, which sounded thunderous.

Rachel began to speak again, and the group was wrapped up in the story, but Strike wasn’t paying any attention to her.

Robin had shifted, and so had he: they were turning towards each other in the dim light. He could just make out the pale outline of her face, her eyes large and luminous. 

They were so close. Their hands were still joined; he traced slow circles with his thumb, and smiled down at her, using it to say everything he couldn't.

It was enough; Robin lifted her face to his in the glorious darkness, and pressed her lips gently to his.


	12. "Yes, I admit it. You were right."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deliciousness. :D (At least I hope!)

Strike experienced a moment where his brain short-circuited before it caught up with his mouth, and then he was kissing her properly, and oh, Christ, kissing Robin was fucking _incredible._

She was melting eagerly against him, and he placed a large hand gently on the small of her back, deepening the kiss.

Her tongue was meeting his own; the strokes a mirror of his own long-held lust and restraint.

He was grinning into the kiss, he couldn’t help it, and fist-punching joy was rising up through him so strongly, he felt slightly drunk.

Robin smiled against his mouth, and they drew breath, although Robin stayed pressed against his chest. 

Strike looked up; he was a bit surprised to see that the group was hanging on Rachel’s every word as the guide gestured into the dark pub. Didn’t they realize the world had just changed?

He looked back down at Robin, who was gazing at him in the gloom. He had to lean down to catch her whisper.

“I told you this tour would be fun. Admit it.”

Strike brushed his stubble teasingly against her cheek, huffing a laugh into her ear and delighting in the result as she shivered in his arms. They were still holding hands. 

“Yes” he said, his voice hoarse with suppressed emotion.

“I admit it.” He kissed her neck lightly, right beneath her jaw at her pulse, and her fingers squeezed his, her breath catching. 

“You were right.” He gave her a Cheshire grin, and bent his head towards hers again.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't live in London, so oh my god, bear with me when they go on this tour. I'll be Google-mapping quite a bit. :D


End file.
